


Little Prince

by cabbagetop



Category: Borderlands (Video Games)
Genre: Age Regression/De-Aging, Completely unfounded made-up backstory for Rhys, Gen, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Maybe actually quite angsty I don't know I've just had cake, Technically major character death but it's fixed before the story starts, now with more chapters!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-05
Updated: 2019-11-14
Packaged: 2020-11-23 23:31:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,605
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20897939
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cabbagetop/pseuds/cabbagetop
Summary: Jack gets Rhys back.  Smaller.  But he'll do right by him this time.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> How, you ask? Uh, handwavy Vault stuff, probably. This is the work of 20 minutes that came from a vague thought popping into my head, looking to see if the story I wanted to read already existed, finding it didn't, and so writing it for myself.

Rhys rubbed his eyes.

They hurt.

_All _of him hurt.

He whimpered.

Then he curled up around himself, arms wrapped over his head, because he learned very well not to make noise before the morning bell, and that hadn’t been what woke him.

“Hey, kiddo!” 

A loud voice broke over him and Rhys flinched, curling up tighter. It wasn’t a voice he knew, and _that _was never a good thing. He shivered, suddenly feeling that he wasn’t covered by his blankets anymore, and that made him tremble harder.

“Hey, hey, hey, pumpkin, what’s this, now?” The voice went a little quieter and softer, but it also came nearer, and Rhys didn’t dare peek out. “You scared, or somethin’? You hurtin’ anywhere?” There was a rustle and quick footsteps marching away. Rhys still didn’t look, which was good, because the voice then bellowed, “_You said he wouldn’t feel any hurts!”_

“I-I-I- we- I believe we were able to promise that the subject-“

“His name is Rhys!”

Oh, now Rhys was _really _scared. It was never good when one of the adults used his name.

“That- that _Rhys_ would suffer no permanent or significant injuries as a result of the procedure. However, some minor, temporary pain is to be expected as his nerves-“

“Fine, yeah, yadda yadda, so fucking make him better, huh? Shoot him up with some nice happy juice or somethin’ until his brain’s calmed down.”

“I’m afraid- I- we determined that- until some time has passed in this body, we do not consider it entirely safe to disturb the equilibrium-“

“_Get out!”_

Rhys had been trying to be brave, he really had. The other boys in the hall were being brave and silent. But all this shouting next to his bed before he’d fully woken up, when he was sore and hurting and he couldn’t even remember going to bed, was just too much. He curled himself up in as tight a little ball as he could, shivering and shaking, and started to cry.

“Awwwww, pumpkin.” The voice came closer again, heaving a big sigh. Rhys felt the bed shift as the man sat down next to him. A big, heavy hand landed on his back and Rhys jolted, wailing through his tears. “Awww, cupcake, c’mon, now, don’cha know I hate the waterworks?” Another hand came to his tucked knees and scooped Rhys right up into the man’s lap, holding Rhys carefully to his chest. Rhys trembled, waiting to be smacked or wrenched to his feet, but the man just held him there, rocking a little. The hand at his legs moved up towards his head and Rhys flinched, ducking to hide his head in his knees- he knew it wouldn’t help, but he couldn’t stop himself- but, after a pause, those big fingers just pet his hair a few times before both arms cinched him in tight, still rocking back and forth. “Shhhhh, sweety-pie. S’just you and me, just you and ol’ Jack. Not a goddamn thing in this galaxy’s gonna hurt you on my watch, cupcake. So just you ease up and take a breather now, mmkay?”

Rhys didn’t know any Jacks.

He didn’t know where he was- when he took a peek over the big arms holding him in place, the room was grey, and bright, and full of machines, nothing like the hall where he slept with all the other boys in the city whose parents didn’t want them at home.

Mean, bigger boys who pushed him and teased him and kicked the cat he tried to save his dinner scraps for, and mean, big adults who pinched and slapped and told him he wouldn’t be fit to clean Hyperion floors.

So this man must have the wrong boy- must have mistaken Rhys for somebody else.

But it was nice, now that he was settling into it, to be held without being pinned or trapped. He didn’t remember the last time anyone had done that. And this man was so big and looked so strong and tough, he could probably fight off _any _of the bullies, even the Overseer, who liked to walk with a cane and smack it across Rhys’ legs if he thought Rhys was being clumsy. And he was warm and his yellow sweater was so soft. Rhys uncurled a little, just enough to tuck himself closer into the soft yellow sweater. One of those big hands came back to pet gently at his hair, and he decided he’d stay here as long as he was allowed.

-|-|-

Jack goggled down at the scrawny kid worming his way inside Jack’s layers, nosing at his sweater and rubbing tearstained cheeks on his coat lining.

This was _not_ what he’d expected. He’d- well, he didn’t know what he’d expected, exactly, but implications were stacking up here like card castles and heads were gonna fuckin’ _roll_.

Whatever. _Whatever._ It worked. Kid was here, kid was alive, kid’s mental issues could be dealt with. Probably wouldn’t even be that hard. After all, he somehow managed to grow up fine the first time.

More than fine.

_So much more_ than fine, fuckin’ awesome, absolute goddamn hero in the making, Rhys had been.

And then-

Jack stroked the soft, wispy curls of the Rhys in his lap, feeling the boy puff out a little sigh and relax a little more, nestle down a little further in the circle of the steel bands of his arms.

_This _one, he wouldn’t fail. _This _one, barely more than a baby, now, would grow up happy, healthy, and with all the awesome shit that comes with being the kid of the richest man in the galaxy. He deserved that much. He deserved _everything_, because he _gave_ everything to bring Jack back from an invisible hologram into a real-world body.

Watching Rhys crumple to the floor when he pulled Jack’s drive from his port- Jack had felt, for a time, as if he was corrupting, fragmenting, deleting line by line, as the medics, originally there to facilitate Jack’s awakening, jumped to resuscitate Rhys instead. But there was nothing for it, and the first time he’d touched Rhys with these hands was to feel his skin already cold.

But _this _Rhys- _this _one would never want for anything. _This _Rhys would never hurt, never hunger, never cry a single goddamn tear again after today. He’d be Jack’s perfect little prince, spoiled like no kid had ever been spoiled before him.

Jack tucked the boy in a little closer and kissed the downy curls. He’d atone for every mistake with Angel, make up for everything he’d owed Rhys before. Baby Rhys was never gonna want for Jack’s attention, any more than he was gonna want for toys or echobooks or bazooka-toting bodyguards. 

And when he was big enough, Jack would give him an _empire._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo I promised...how many weeks ago?...to the lovely and kind Bleedingsoul01 that I would write them another chapter of this in thanks for their very sweetly dashing off to scrounge up a kid!Rhys fic recommendation. Mea maxima culpa carissimam.

Rhys eyed the hand pinching his sleeve.

He knew he was supposed to stay right next to Nolbie, and always hold Nolbie’s hand when they were out without Daddy-Jack, but he’d seen one of the little floor cleaner ‘bots scooting along under the Hub tables with some kind of sparky glitch, and he’d wanted to catch it and see if he could fix it (and Daddy-Jack could definitely fix it if Rhys couldn’t; Daddy-Jack always said Rhys was really smart and good with machines, but he still had a lot to learn and Daddy-Jack could fix _anything). _ But the ‘bot got away between lots of different feet, and when Rhys looked back to find Nolbie again, his Nanny Loader Bot was gone.

And then a lady was there instead, somebody he didn’t know, looking down at him like he’d done something wrong- and he _had, _he supposed, but she shouldn’t know that- and asked him where his parents were.

“Daddy-Jack’s working,” Rhys told her.

“Where’s he working, sweetheart?” she asked him, in a sweet, sticky voice like she thought he was a _baby _or something. Rhys wrinkled up his nose. “You must be visiting from Pandora, right? Are you here with a charity group?”

Rhys didn’t know what all that meant. “Daddy-Jack’s working in his office, and he’s gonna come down for lunch with me an’ Nolbie.”

“Who’s Nolbie, hon-? Oh my god!”

The lady shrieked and stumbled backwards, dragging Rhys with her so hard he almost fell over. He twisted to see what had made her scream and saw Nolbie thumping up behind him, reaching out one black hand for Rhys. Rhys reached back, but the lady didn’t let go.

He whined.

**“Hey! Dead-lady-walking with the bad dye job and the _seriously _stupid ideas, currently manhandling my kid!”**

Daddy-Jack’s voice boomed across the Hub from the ceiling. The lady stopped moving. _Everybody _stopped moving.

**“Let. Him. Go.”**

The lady let go of Rhys’ sleeve and he nearly fell flat on his face, but he caught himself and ran back to Nolbie. His Nanny Loader Bot patted his back gently. Rhys turned his face into the shiny yellow body panels and held up his arms. Everybody was _staring _at them. Nolbie picked him up carefully and Rhys hid his face in Nolbie’s shoulder.

**“Ohhhh, lady, you must’ve sure wanted a free trip to Elpis.”**

“I’m so sorry,” she said quickly. “I had no idea! I saw him standing there, alone, wearing ratty old girls’ clothes and I just assumed he was part of the Pandora refugee program-“

**“_NOLBIE!”_** Daddy-Jack roared, and Rhys closed his eyes as Nolbie placed one big hand firmly over the back of his head.

-|-|-|-

Fuck ‘em.

Fuck ‘em all.

Fuck ‘em right out the nearest airlock, that’s what he was gonna do, please and thank you with a goddamn cherry on top, to the _very next _person who looked at his little Rhysie weird.

Because Rhys had freely chosen his own clothes today, like Jack usually let him do.

And of all the bizarre, unflattering crap worn as fashion in this universe, these idiots were taking issue with Angel’s old gear?

Jack squeezed his baby boy tight, humming vaguely, and pulled the pink hood of Rhys’ sweatshirt up over his messy curls to help him hide. He tucked the kid’s stuffed rabbit safely under one still-scrawny little arm.

Jack had, one miserably drunken night, had some sentimental ideas about Rhys knowing his big sister Angel, and dug out some boxes of her kiddie things that he’d packaged up as she’d grown out of them and never felt up to throwing away. In the cold light of sober-ish morning, those boxes just…weren’t as painful as he’d always thought they would be. He’d half expected to burst into tears at the sight of them, honestly, which was intolerably pathetic. But the truth was that he opened the lids and sorted through blankets and toys and edu-pads and tiny socks with a dull, heavy, weary sort of ache, full of nostalgia but no sharp grief, like he was just too tired to feel overwhelmed by his guilt anymore.

Or maybe he’d lost too much to grieve anymore.

Maudlin, self-pitying shit aside, he had these storerooms of stuff, and they might as well go to use if the kiddo wanted anything. Why order a new stuffed yellow rabbit and wait weeks for it to arrive if there was already a stuffed yellow rabbit ready and waiting in the box? And some of the little sweaters and printed pjs and bobble hats were just too damn cute not to get the chance of a second airing- he should know, he’d picked them out himself the first time around.

Besides, Jack kinda really liked the idea of Rhys getting Angel’s hand-me-downs. He wanted to imagine that she might’ve liked the idea of a baby brother, and seeing the way Jack changed for him, the way he should have for her.

Anyway.

Rhys, with an awful timidity that Jack was working on with the help of a real-life actual professional child therapist, had carefully rummaged through the contents of the boxes as Jack dumped them out on the living room floor. He’d sat tucked up against one of Butt Stallion’s legs, a spot where he inexplicably seemed to feel comfortable and safe. He’d suckered up the yellow rabbit, and all the edu-pads, and a plushy orange Claptrap (_side note to self_, ask Marketing: why the everloving-fuck did those even exist??).

He’d picked out clothes.

And-

Well, Jack should’ve known, shouldn’t he? He’d seen the _adult _Rhys’ fashion sense, what had he honestly expected from the baby version’s?

But- and this was the critical point, the one that seemed to have escaped every last moron here in the station today, all these dead men walking who stared at Jack’s kid like there was some kind of fuckin’ _problem _and had dared to make _faces _or even _mutter _snide things to each other behind their hands like Jack didn’t have a million billion fuckin’ cameras in his own goddamn space station, ready to catch every word- but, the point was: who cared?

Handsome Jack did not care if his boy wanted to wear a tiny three-piece suit, or a loader bot cosplay, or, like today, an old pink hoodie of Angel’s with a sparkly purple sequined unicorn on the front. Frankly, he gave the kid kudos for matching the hoodie to his leggings, purple with half-worn-off pink glitter stripes. He didn’t think most children were so color-coordinated.

So if Rhys liked pink, and he wanted to wear Angel’s pink princess dress tomorrow with all the frills and flounces? Jack would get back on the tannoy and demand that anyone who didn’t want a trip into orbit better dress like a pretty, pretty princess, too. If Rhys liked unicorns, and wanted to wear his unicorn costume onesie to lunch next? Why the fuck not. That thing was adorable, with it’s poky little tail and the shiny little golden horn sticking off the hood. People should be _begging_ Jack to produce Rhys in public in that costume.

Come to think of it-

“Ears, baby,” Jack told Rhys, and the boy obediently unwrapped his hands from where he’d been clinging on to the collar of Jack’s vest and covered his ears instead. Jack spun around to catch the guilty eyes of every pale face in the Hub. “Well, now,” he bellowed, a wide, beaming grin fixed on his face. “Isn’t it just your lucky day? Isn’t it just such a _treat _for all of you to get to see this little munchkin here?” He bounced Rhys up in his arms and settled the boy high on his chest, clearly visible to the crowd. “Cutest little lovebug this side of the universe, amiright?”

Nada. Nothing but some indistinct murmuring.

Jack frowned. This was their _prince_ he held. Sure, it’d only been a few weeks, but people had better get with the program.

He pointed at a man in the crowd. “Hey. You. Tubby guy with the sauce stain on your gut. Actually, no, I don’t trust your judgement.” He spun a half-step and pointed again. “You, classy chick in the white skirt. You look like you got taste. Do you, or do you not, wanna eat this adorable mini-human up with a spoon?”

The cowards around the woman were shrinking away from her, trying to escape Jack’s notice, but she held her ground, and even smiled a little at Rhys. Huh. Good Hyperion material, there. “He does seem like a very sweet boy. I’d like to take this chance, on behalf of Systems Engineering, to congratulate you on your adoption, sir.”

Jack hesitated. “…You. Come here.”

The woman stepped smartly forward. Jack let Rhys slide down more comfortably into his arms, and tapped his hands to let him know it was safe to stop covering his ears. He hadn’t really needed to; Jack had no intention of hiding him from swear words, or anything like that, but raised voices sometimes still scared the poor kid, so better safe than sorry. “Sorry about all this, kitten,” he told Rhys, and kissed the fluffy curls. “We’ll make pancakes for lunch when we get home, okay?”

Rhys leaned up and kissed Jack’s nose in return before cuddling into Jack’s chest with his rabbit. He’d just started doing that this week, all on his own, and it made Jack want to simultaneously cringe to death in second-hand embarrassment for how stupidly soft and squishy they looked together, and grin big enough for his mouth to fall off his face because he was apparently doing something fucking _right_.

This kid didn’t think he was an asshole.

The Systems Engineer waited patiently, a polite distance away. Jack edged nearer. He murmured, “This is now a private conversation. Which means, if you even repeat one single tiny syllable of it to your weakest, most pathetic houseplant, you’re off this station without a shuttle. You get me?”

She nodded sharply, expression cool and calm.

“Good. Now.” Jack cast a wary glance around them, making sure none of the peons- braver, now, that he wasn’t focused on _them_\- would do something monumentally stupid, like try to eavesdrop. “You said congratulations. For the adoption. Should other people be saying congratulations? Should I be expecting, like, cards and gifts and shit?”

Her eyes widened. “Um- yes, I would think so,” she stammered. “I mean, adoptions are expected to be treated the same way as births, aren’t they? So the new parents would be given the same courtesy, with congratulatory cards and useful gifts. At least, that’s what everyone seemed to assume when my sister adopted.”

Jack fist-pumped_._

-|-|-|-

“Heeeey there, Handsome Jack here. Just wanted to _touch base._ See, I’ve been having a grand old time up here in my jewel in the sky- like always, _hah-_ but of course, things have been extra super special lately. See the picture of the little cutie pie up there in the corner of your screen? That’s my son, Rhys. I adopted him whole _weeks _ago, and what’ve I got from you? Zip. Zilch. Not even a stupid e-card. You wanna know what we got from the rest of the big players in the galaxy? Well, too bad, because I’ve got too much important shit to do to waste hours showing you all the literal fuckin’ mountains of New Daddy presents. Now, I’m gonna give you the benefit of the doubt and assume you’ve been stuck in quarantine all this time with some kinda hellspawn of an STD. But you might wanna think about steppin’ up your game, kiddos, before I decide I’m feeling…_insulted._”

Jack aimed a nova-bright, glacier-cold smile at the camera, then flicked his fingers to signal the end of the video. The videographer obediently stopped recording and stepped back.

“Send that to every CEO you can think of,” Jack ordered the PR team. “Throw in whatever planetary elites and nobility exist in the next few systems who might kick something in.”

“Sir,” one piped up, quavering. “Have you considered a gift registry? Or- or at least some hints to indicate what you would prefer to receive?”

Jack snorted and kicked back in his chair, spinning just enough to keep one eye on the screen that now displayed 24/7 CCTV recording of Rhys, wherever he was: right now, safe in the penthouse with Wilhelm, building…something out of blocks. A scale model of Treacher’s Landing? He needed to take the kid to a real beach. “I don’t give a crap if they send me pre-signed contracts or hand-knitted baby blankets, I just want them to _be polite_ and send stuff. You need anything else? No? Good. Get out. Oh, and somebody book me and the tater-tot a trip to Aquator, mmmkay? Few days, nothin’ fancy, just us and Wilhelm and fifty or sixty Loader Bots. And throw everybody else off the island and vet the staff, obviously.”

“Sir,” the same PR guy squeaked. Was he the department head, or something? Jack wondered. How did somebody so squeaky make it so far in Hyperion? “Maybe it would be easier to take Young Sir to the Aquatorian villa you already own, which is fully secured and staffed by Hyperion personnel?”

Jack stared for a moment, boggled. He owned a villa on Aquator? Well, duh, of course he _should_, being him and all, but he’d completely forgotten. Surely he’d never actually _been _there. “Good catch, Ratty,” he said finally. “Make it happen. Now, everybody out!” He clapped his hands. “Out, out, out! I got some architectural modeling to check over and I don’t need your asses in the way.”

The PR team scurried out.

Jack hopped up and made for the private elevator, humming, and headed up to the penthouse.


	3. Chapter 3

Rhys stared at his feet.

He’d never seen sand like this before. He’d seen sandboxes, in playgrounds, but you couldn’t take your shoes off in them or, really, touch the sand, because they were always full of broken bottles and other things you weren’t supposed to touch.

But this beach went as far as he could see in two directions, soft and white and hot, not cold and wet like sandboxes were. And Daddy-Jack had crouched down and taken Rhys’ new sandals off and told him to go run. Rhys looked up at him.

“It’s safe,” Daddy-Jack said seriously, taking his hands. “Nothin’ here’s gonna hurt your feet, Rhysie-pie. I promise. Nothin’ lives here to hurt you; they clean it to make sure nothin’ _gets _here; and I pay a whole shit-ton of money to make sure nothin’ could be _hidden_ here. There is nothing in that sand except for pretty, pretty seashells and pebbles straight outta the ocean. You wanna go see?”

Rhys held Daddy-Jack’s hands tightly and looked back over his shoulder.

That was the other thing.

The _ocean_.

He’d sure never seen that before.

He’d seen pictures in books, about pirates and heroes and treasure hunters, and the books did say that the ocean was huge, from one side of the sky to the other, but he wasn’t ready for the noise or the way it moved. Rhys had wanted to be a hero just like Daddy-Jack for as long as he could remember- and it still felt like a dream he was going to wake up from, that the real-life action hero _Handsome Jack_ had taken Rhys away and said he was going to be his daddy now!- but even Daddy-Jack had never fought any monsters in the ocean.

Daddy-Jack stood up, letting one of Rhys’ hands go but holding the other carefully tight. “Come on, baby. Let’s go find some shells and get our feet wet, okay?”

Rhys followed him from their towels and bags, out onto the open beach, stumbling over the soft sand and sticking close to Daddy-Jack’s legs. Daddy-Jack stopped and leaned down to scoop something out of the sand. He brushed it clean in his fingers, then held it down to Rhys. “What do you think? Should we keep it or toss it?”

Rhys peered at the shell in Daddy-Jack’s hand. It was pink and orange with rough raised curves on one side, like the way Rhys drew a sunset, and smooth, gleaming blue on the other. “That came from the ocean?”

“Yep. There used to be two pieces of this that closed up tight, and a little bitty animal lived in there like a house.”

“Woah,” Rhys breathed, staring at the pretty shell. “How did it breathe if it was in the water?”

“Uhhhh…ask your Uncle Tim when we get back to the villa,” Daddy-Jack told him. “Uncle Tim’s the smarty pants in the family, he knows all kinds of useless shi- uh, interesting stuff like that. Hey, how about we get lots of shells and you can ask him about all of ‘em?”

Rhys spun around and the sand squished in his toes, warm and soft. He spotted another gleam of blue and green and dropped Daddy-Jack’s hand to scramble off. “Look, I found one!”

“Good job, baby. You wanna go look in the water, too?”

-|-|-|-

Tim kicked a foot up onto the railing of the veranda and used it to push his rocking chair into an easy swing, relaxing utterly into the humid heat and the perfect cooling breeze sweeping off the sea. He had a good book, an excellent cold drink complete with tiny umbrella, and his chair cushions were the kind of magic that only obscene amounts of money can buy, as they molded perfectly to his body yet didn’t get sticky or sweaty in the heat. He didn’t sink into his book just yet, though. He had a panorama view of Jack patiently coaxing Rhys into dipping his tiny toes into the lapping waves, and scooping the kid up when he nearly bounced right over in excitement.

Too. Damn. Cute.

“I feel like I should be filming blackmail videos, but Jack would just put them on repeat all over Helios to show off,” Tim mused aloud.

Wilhelm grunted.

“Probably enter it in some kind of “most adorable child” competition. Those must exist somewhere. Geez, can you imagine if Rhys somehow didn’t win? Jack would go on a rampage. New plan, Wilhelm, let’s never, ever let Jack consider cute child competitions.”

Wilhelm grunted again, and Tim chose to believe that it sounded like wholehearted agreement.

“Can you believe we’re getting paid for this?”

“Can’t believe _you’re _getting paid for this,” Wilhelm muttered. Tim craned his neck to look over. Wilhelm was taking the whole bodyguard thing seriously, forgoing the ridiculously comfy chairs to stand in the shadow of the wall, arms crossed over his chest, gaze focused laser-sharp down on the beach.

Tim rolled his eyes and tipped his head back. “Relax. Jack brought a whole army of Loader Bots he can call up if anything happens. And if anything _does _happen, you really think you could get to Rhys from here faster than Jack would take out the threat himself? Even in those swim trunks, he’s rigged up with a small armory. Don’t ask me how, please _god _don’t, but they’re fine.”

Wilhelm…grunted.

Tim sighed and shook his head. To each their own, he guessed. Well, he was on a paradise island, with everything he needed to relax and pamper himself, and he fully intended to enjoy it. He kind of even thought he’d actually _get _to. Usually, with Jack, the minute he sank into his first bubble bath was the minute some crazy insurgency would start or Jack would come flying in with an ancient newly-discovered treasure map. But this time, they were planet-side for Rhys’ benefit, not Jack’s, and adopting Rhys as his son had changed things. Tim would stake every penny he had that there would be no deviations from the plans on any trip where Rhys was involved, no matter what came up, no matter how exciting something sounded. If someone came up to Jack right now with an actual vault key, Tim honestly believed that Jack would call Tim or Wilhelm over to take it rather than put down any of the shells he was carrying for Rhys.

Things had changed.

The way things went down, when Jack got his body…things changed a _lot._

He still killed. He still hunted. He still kicked people out the airlocks when they annoyed him.

But he also took a week off to help his son build sandcastles on the beach, and, watching Jack gently reel Rhys back into arm’s reach as the boy crawled off after some new beachcombing, Tim was sure Jack had never been more dangerous.


End file.
